


Legends, in short

by Jael



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Humor, Prompt Fic, Short, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6632797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the short stuff I write about Legends of Tomorrow. Some based on prompts. (Which I welcome, but can't guarantee.) Mostly angst or humor, but sometimes both at once! Will be mostly CaptainCanary, even if it's just a friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing "Another World, Some Other Time" when I got to thinking about Sara's role as a protector of women, and her words: "No woman should ever have to suffer at the hands of men."
> 
> Next thing I knew, I'd written this. I like to torture these characters just a little too much, sometimes.
> 
> I own nothing.

It is 1970.

They are in Central City, running, running back to the WaveRider after a successful mission to steal some important documents from a safe-deposit box in the First Central City Bank.

Snart had called it child's play and it had, for once, actually gone off without a hitch. He'd passed the papers off to Ray to get them back to the WaveRider as fast as possible, while he and Sara split off and taken a different route to divert any attention. Later, he'd muse that the route he'd picked, through the areas he'd once known best, had probably not been the greatest idea.

They were moving at a fast jog, watching each other's backs, through the ... not best ... areas of '60s Central City, when they hear the screams.

She's off immediately. He sighs, and follows.

When he emerges from the alleyway in front of the dive bar, he knows it immediately, even through the distance of years. There's a woman cowering to the left of the door, her hands cupping her face, an enormous, spreading bruise already visible on her cheek. And there's a man Sara has already knocked back into the garbage cans on the other side, spitting, cursing, struggling to get up.

He takes all this in in a heartbeat. Notes the fury on Sara's face, the bloodlust just below the surface. This is a trigger point for her, he knows, violence against women.

And he throws himself in front of her, hands up, hating himself as he does it.

"Get out of the way," she tells him in a furious undertone, staff in hand, staring at the floundering, belligerent drunk behind him.

"Trust me," he hisses, "in another time and place, nothing would please me more than to see you bash his skull in. But I can't let you do it, Sara. I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

Moment of truth, then. He takes a deep breath.

"Because that's my father."

He sees it register on her face. She stands down, just a tad, glancing at the man over his shoulder and then at him.

"And you're not born yet."

"Not even on the way."

What that means registers, too. She takes a swift look over her shoulder at the weeping woman.

"Is that ..."

"Yes."

He lost his mother young. It's a measure of the cruelty of this situation that he cannot even go to check on her now. He's all too aware that it could completely push him over the edge, drive him to that ultimate time paradox: killing his own father before he can even be conceived.

He sees Sara register it, too. That she can't so much as speak to the woman behind her, encourage her to leave this abusive jerk who's smashed his fist into her face when she desperately came looking for the rent money before he drank it away.

She registers it, then turns and runs back into the night. He follows, with only one last glance at his mother.

His father doesn't deserve it.

xxx

In the general euphoria of an actual successful mission, no one notices his utter silence, or the way he vanishes as soon as possible.

No one except Sara.

He finds him, later, in the cargo bay, where he tends to go when he doesn't want anyone to find him. (Although, he reflects, given that she knows about that now, it sort of defeats the purpose.)

"How are you doing?"

He dodges what she's really asking. "You know. Just sitting here, waiting to see if I fade out of existence or something."

She hesitates, then drops to the floor nearby. "I asked Gideon. She said there was no change to the timeline."

His mouth twists. It's good news, of course, but how can he be pleased when ..

She reaches over, puts her hand on his.

"Are you OK?"

He considers a snarky comment, discovers he can't quite manage it.

"No."

And they sit, in the dark, in silence.


	2. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you cross "Legends of Tomorrow" with "Mythbusters" and challenge me to write something. This is ridiculous. It was SO much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own neither the characters or the show(s).

Depending on how long his strides are, it takes Rip Hunter three to five steps to pace the area in front of the two miscreants in his office.

The average is four. Step-step. Step-step.

They've had time to count. He's been pacing since he called them in here.

Not that either of them looks too impressed. Sara looks like she's holding back laughter. Snart looks bored.

Step-step. Step-step.

Finally, he stops. "What on Earth were you thinking?!"

Gideon is helpful. "Capt. Hunter, I believe Mr. Snart and Ms. Lance, as they say, 'binge-watched' seasons one through 12 of a television show called 'Mythbusters' over the course of the past…"

Hunter is having none of it.

"I didn't care…much…when the cargo-bay walls were slightly damaged in the course of testing whether it's a mistake to bring knives to a gunfight…"

"Not when Sara has the knives, it's not."

"…I looked the other way about the five cases of duct tape…"

"Hey, that could come in handy…"

"…I didn't even ask about the dental floss, antacids, and salsa…"

"Research."

"…I even let you off with a warning when you talking Mr. Palmer into the whole bubblewrap thing!"

"He can fly; he wouldn't have gotten hurt. Much."

"But this, this is beyond the pale…"

"We were bored."

"You brought C4 on my ship!"

"You brought a walking, talking nuclear reactor on this ship; is this that much worse?"

Sara leans over and whispers, "Did he find the thermite?"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

After being thoroughly reamed out, a process that gets very little reaction from the troublemakers but sends Hunter into an utter meltdown, the good captain departs, muttering under his breath, presumably in search of more reasonable people to deal with.

The seconds tick on as they sit in silence. Finally, she turns to looks at him, catches the smirk hovering at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you have it?"

One long-fingered hand dips into his jacket, emerges to flourish the contraband within.

Superglue. Extra-large. Extra-strength.

Time for some redecorating.


	3. Small Favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been annoyed with a few things on Legends lately. (I feel like they're setting up a thing with Mick and Sara, which means they'd probably either have to ignore all the established chemistry with Snart or set up a triangle. And I hate triangles.) Maybe I'm wrong. I hope I am. I still think Mick and Sara make excellent friends.
> 
> So I wrote what I'd like to see happen. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, of course, own nothing.

"So, tell me about Snart."

The question is casually asked, as if it is an afterthought, a mere way to idle away a few more moments during a trip through the Temporal Zone. They're both having a quick bite to eat in the kitchen, or galley, or whatever passes for it on the WaveRider, and Sara's feigning boredom between bites of salad, twirling her fork between her fingers like a miniature version of her staff.

Mick raises his eyebrows. He's been expecting this, really, but feigns ignorance, taking another bite of his own lunch (some sort of beef and noodle concoction Jax whipped up a few days ago).

"Like… what? Height, birthday … you know that … whether he snores?"

Is that a faint blush? Seriously? From her? Oh, this could be fun.

"Oh, I don't know." Another spin of the of the fork. "He told me how he met you. Tell me the other side of it."

"Huh." He sits back, thinks a minute. "Well, he told you it was in juvie, right? I think he was 14 or so. I'm a few years older, but more than a few years bigger, especially at that point.

"He was the scrawniest kid; bird bones, really underfed. And he hadn't really gotten any height at that point, so he was just plain small. He probably should have come in there ready to be low man on the totem pole, keep his head down, not make any waves …

"Well. You know Snart." A gleam in her eye suggests she knows exactly what he's talking about. "He walks in there, this scrawny little kid, that fucking 'you are all idiots' look on his face – you know the one — glaring at anyone who dares to try to take him down a peg or two. At first, they didn't know what to think of him. Normally, that kind of nerve means you can back it up, know what I mean? So they roughed him up a little, but mostly just watched. They were pretty unnerved he didn't fall in line, take his place in the pecking order."

"And where were you in that?"

"Eh, I was big enough to stay out of it. Knocked a few skulls together in the beginning, but I didn't want to run anything, just be left alone, so they left me be." He takes a drink, continues. "Didn't take more than a few hours before he snarked at the wrong guy, though, and they'd figured out he didn't have any weapons at this point. Probably figured he wasn't worth keeping around, really, and worth more making an example of."

"They really would have killed him. Right there." The comment is soft and not quite a question. He answers it anyway.

"Yeah. Little shits weren't thinking; they were just angry. I've been there. … Anyway, he was a scrapper, but he was outnumbered, and by the time I saw what was going on, they'd beaten the crap out of him and had the shiv right up to his throat."

"You saved him."

"Suppose I did. Still not sure why. Had some respect for the twerp, I guess." His eyes are distant, staring at a memory only he can see. "Anyway, he picks himself up, bruised and battered and bleeding from this shallow slice at his neck, looks at me with this icy glare and says, 'I'm going to get us out of here.' And, eventually, he did. But that's a story for another time."

They're both silent, then, not even pretending to eat for the moment. He breaks the silence first, standing to feed his dishes through the recycler.

"So what else would you like to know about Snart?"

He tries to be casual, but it's still too blunt. He kicks himself for it.

She doesn't look him in the eye. "I was just curious."

She still is. But she won't admit it, now. So he offers her something.

"That's the thing, with Snart. That same mask's been there a long, long time. It doesn't go away easily. Not when it should. Not even if he's hurt."

Emotional pain will … rarely … do it. He's had firsthand experience of that, lately; in fact, he's caused it. He's not proud of that, now.

"Anyway, he'll almost never take it down voluntarily. He'll stand there with that icy look on his face while you rip his heart out and stomp on it, and he'll pretend he doesn't care."

"And that means?"

Should he say it? He does.

"It means if anyone's making a move, it needs to be you."

He smiles at her, and walks out the door.

Another little mark in the ledger. Snart OWES him.


	4. Starry Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt from stefaniegk – "Please put me down, it's just a sprained ankle." I tweaked it. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own neither the characters nor show; I just like to play.

"I had no idea you could swear like this." Sara pauses a moment to hide a smile as Snart snarls another blistering curse at the suited man who's just taken off, then continues easing off his boot.

The ankle has already swollen to an alarming size. She bites her lip.

"You really should have let him give you a lift back to the ship. I don't know how you're going to make it back on this."

Snart gives her a speaking glance from where he's sprawled on the Star City rooftop where they'd been running, heading back to the Waverider after a mission.

"There is … no way…in HELL I'm letting the incredible shrinking schmuck CARRY me … motherf…!"

She's gently rotating the ankle joint. "I'm sorry. Well, the good news is that it's not broken. But you've got a doozy of a sprain." She sets his foot gently down. "I'm really not sure how you're going to get back down…"

"Stairs. Like normal people use." He waves a hand at the door nearby like the lock on it doesn't even matter. It probably doesn't.

"Still, bit of a walk back."

"I'll manage," he grits out as she helps ease the boot back on. "Maybe I'll hotwire a car. Just to piss Hunter off."

She can't stop the smile. Her heart had plummeted when she'd glanced back and seen him go down. Grim experience had her looking around for a villain, or an archer…

He's muttering some very creative things under his breath, and she allows herself to be distracted. "Impressive vocabulary, Snart, but I'm still surprised. Where's the chill?"

There's a gleam in the hooded glance he gives her. "Maybe I don't think I needed it with you anymore."

She's surprised enough to simply blink at him for a moment. But only a moment.

"Why on Earth didn't you just hotwire a car to begin with, then?"

"I seem to keep hanging around with people who think they can launch themselves through the air like birds…"

"And why does this mean you had to? I didn't think rooftop running was ever part of your game."

He shrugs.

"Maybe I just wanted to see if I could keep up."

She really has no good response for that.

He has impressive weaponry. (A tiny voice in her head giggles. She tries to ignore it.) And an even more impressive brain, when it comes to planning, and strategy, and, well, any sort of criminal mischief. Rooftop running? Well…

Maybe not so much.

So, why…

She hesitates, then sits down next to him on the rooftop.

"You need to get back, get some ice on that ankle."

"In a minute."

He's gazing up at the sky, and she does the same. It's a gorgeous night, really, warm and clear and starry. She'd taken to the rooftops on a whim, really, allowing herself to be the Canary again for a time, only belatedly realizing she had company.

She looks at him again … and catches him looking back, that little half-smile on his face. She's leaning into his shoulder, just a little, and his arm is along her back.

It occurs to her that this might even be a little … romantic … sitting on a rooftop under a sky full of stars … and this has occurred to him as well …

He's leaning toward her … she lets him …

"Guys? Guys? You OK? Do you need help? Do you want me to come back?" The concerned voice in their comm units makes them both jump.

"Fine, Raymond," Snart snarls back. "Back off. We'll get there. Not all of us can fly."

The moment is over. She's on her feet, offering him a hand up, which he takes with a grimace and a little more muttered profanity as he struggles up. They head slowly for the door.

"You're going to need more practice before you can keep up with me," she informs him, her tone a little teasing.

There's that half-smile again.

"I'll look forward to it."


	5. About You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the description for Legends of Tomorrow episode No. 14 ("River of Time") includes a line about how Mick and Snart consider returning home, unhappy with Hunter's decision to take Savage to the Time Masters.
> 
> Well, I know what sort of scene(s) I (and probably other CaptainCanary fans) would like to see. I'm probably not going to get them.
> 
> So I wrote them.
> 
> Shamelessly CaptainCanary. Oh, and I have a potty mouth.
> 
> I own nothing. I just like to mess with the characters.

"If you leave this ship now, you'll never forgive yourself."

Snart's chin goes up and his eyes narrow. This is not the reaction he'd expected from Mick, not at all. Not those words, not that sober tone of voice.

"What," he grits out, "is that supposed to mean?"

When Hunter announced they'd take Savage to the TimeMasters, no one had been happy, least of all perhaps Mick. Snart, who'd never trusted the faceless group anyway, had proposed later that perhaps it was time to go … home. Central City 2016. Back to the city, back to the game, back to being anything other than heroes.

Mick … is not reacting as he'd expected.

The big man shrugs. "I've got nothing back there. Might as well see how it all plays out. And you … well, I stand by what I said."

He's actually rendered speechless. For a moment.

"And why…" The drawl is back, like it always is in times of stress. "…would you say something as stupid as that."

Mick smirks at him. The expression is the brother to the one that he could see in the mirror on a regular basis, if he bothered to look.

"Seriously? And Rip thought I was the stupid one."

"Enough, Mick…"

"All the times you've chosen this 'team.' " It's clear the word wasn't his first choice. It's also clear he's enjoying messing with his friend, just a little. " ' Sorry, Mick, gotta go save … Stein.' 'Mick, they're going to kill … our friends.' 'Sorry, Mick, gonna chose the side with…' "

"That's enough." There's an air of panic in the words, as if naming names will make what he's saying more real. It's almost enough to make Mick feel guilty. Almost.

"Admit it, Snart. You'd save the old man because he was part of the crew, but it was the assassin you were worried about. And you didn't give a rat's ass for Rip in 2046, but, no, they were after Sara, too." Snart actually flinches when the name is spoken. Oh, the ice man's got it bad.

"And the way you came running when I tagged her with the heat gun … I apologized for that, by the way … I think I was positive then. And when I was in the brig and you came to 'talk' to me just because she told you to … well …"

He's actually taken a step or two back, retreating from Mick's words.

"That's ridiculous." The words are hissed.

The big man shrugs. "Telling you what I see. I like Blondie; it'd be a shame if you ran off and didn't even bother seeing what might be there. No, Snart, I don't want to go 'home.' And I'm not even the one with the newfound hero complex and the thing for one scary, bad ass blonde.

"Truth: You leave, you'll be wondering every minute of every day what might have happened. How you might have made a difference. What she might have said."

It's too much, too fast; the other man actually turns tail and runs … well, stalks … away. Mick watches him go and shakes his head.

"Idiot."

xxxxxxx

He's pacing, brooding around the ship for a while, when he hears the footsteps behind him.

"Mick says you're thinking about leaving? Seriously, Snart?"

Mick is an asshole.

He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow, just drawls, "And you care precisely … why?"

There's silence for a moment, except for the sound of their footsteps. Against his better judgment, he slows, just a little.

"I thought you were part of the team," Sara says, finally. "I thought maybe you actually gave a shit."

"About what?"

"About the mission! About saving the world! About … the team."

He stops, whirls; she nearly storms right into him.

"The mission?" he snarls, taking out his anger on her and already regretting it. "The mission was to stop Savage. Well, now we have Savage. The one person who can kill him won't do it, and Hunter's going to turn him over to the same assholes who refused to deal with him in the first place, the same assholes who fucking tortured Mick! That was NOT the goddamned mission!"

Somehow, her eyes haven't budged from his during the entire escalating rant. When he's done, she takes a deep breath and says, "Feel better, letting that out?"

He gives her a grudging nod.

"Good. Snart … Leonard." She hesitates, then actually puts a hand on his arm. "When this … goes south … as we both know it will, they're going to need you."

"They?"

The ship shakes, just a little. They ignore it, staring at each other.

"We," she allows.

"We?" Very quietly, somewhat amazed at himself, he says, an echo from a few weeks before: "What about your … feelings?"

She registers the echo. Her lips curve, just a little. "About you?"

"Yes, actually."

They barely have a moment to process what they both may or may not be saying when the miniscule shake turns into a hard jolt. It flings her into his arms, both of them against a wall. His head cracks against a doorway; she bites through her lip.

And there's no more time to think about what they both might be confessing. They share another glance, then take off running for the brig.


End file.
